Antony and Cleopatra, True Love Ways
by blackbirdxsinging
Summary: Loosely based off of the plot if the original story, this is a modern-esque twist on my favourite pairing.. ever. Antony/ Cleopatra


_Hi! I was to read Julius Caesar in my grade nine English class earlier this year, and I completely fell in love with Antony, so I went on to read Antony and Cleopatra on my own time. This is completely fiction, it will stick to the plot loosely, however I've thrown a lot of modern words, phrasing, items etc. Just for a little twist, so don't get all authentic on me. I KNOW. :P With that being said, the disclaimer is this:_

_I own nothing, these characters are a work of fiction (any real names or places are coincidental) and I'm getting no profit from this story. It's only for your enjoyment, friends._

_So Friends, romans, countrymen, lend me your ears…_

Monday mornings. _Morning?_ I look out my window to confirm it. _Morning._ I bring my fist up to my mouth and lean on the window-sill, looking out on the grass, which was covered in dew. Black and white. I close my eyes.

Do I feel guilty? No, I do not. Brutus had brought his suicide upon himself. Although he was, as I had said before, the noblest Roman of us all, he had brought his suicide upon himself. His dark ways wouldn't alter my decisions, and in fact, it wasn't my decision at all for him to kill himself.

_So fuck off._ I think quietly, dismissing the faint guilt appearing at the back of my mind. I push open the window and then stand, letting the cool air wrap itself around my bare chest. It's cold. I don't notice. I've won the war, in a way, I suppose. But in the same way, lost.

I try and think about what I mean; my thoughts have been bothering me constantly ever since Brutus's suicide. Although, it's not Brutus that I'm concerned about (mostly), it was more over Portia.

I walk over to my desk and pull open the front drawer. I have to search through my things for a while before my hands come across the carton of cigarettes I kept in case of an emergency. Holding it in my hands, I considered what I was thinking an emergency, but didn't spend too long contemplating, for my hunger for nicotine took over and opened the box for me.

I hold the cigarette between my lips as I fumble around for my lighter. When I finally get it, I shiver slightly from the cold. I light my cigarette, toss the lighter on the desk, and walk over to the window, shutting it with both hands.

There's a knock at the door. "Marcus, are you decent?"

"Octavius, yes, come in," I called, setting my cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and walking over to the old dresser where my shirts were folded. He opens the door and pauses slightly, watching me unexpectantly pulling over a white shirt. "Is there something wrong?" I ask, turning towards him, taking my cigarette.

"Uh, no," he stumbles, looking away. "I had just received a message saying that the queen of Egypt is here to visit you."

I feel a little strange, not expecting a visitor. "Cleopatra?"

"Yes," He said, looking around the room, slightly disgusted. "She seemed very intrigued to meet you, from what the messenger said." He nudges an empty whiskey bottle on the floor and curls his lip up. "I don't know _why…"_

"Ah, Octavius," I hum, putting out my cigarette and walking towards him. I put my arm around his neck and grin. "Forever young, my dear friend, forever young."

He manages to crack a smile, but then quickly shoves me off, somewhat playfully, and then returns to normal. "She'll be here around midday tomorrow."

"Great," I mumble sarcastically, looking around my room. Octavius turns to walk out. "Oh, and Octavius?"

He turns, in what seems like a relunctant matter, and replies; "Yes, Antony?"

"Tell them not to send her up to my quarters, alright?"

"Understood." He turns again.

"Oh, one more thing, Octavius." He freezes, but doesn't turn around. I swear I almost see him twitch.

"Yes, Antonius?" I almost enjoy the pain he gets from my persistence.

"Call me Marcus."

***

_I'm lying in bed, but I am not alone. I feel her hot breath on my neck, and it lingers there, as if it's waiting for something. Her lips finally touch and I close my eyes, putting one of my hands on her hair, feeling how soft it is on my calloused fingers. "I.." I begin to say, but I can't finish. She looks up, although I cannot see her face from the darkness, and waits for me to say it. "I…" She opens her mouth to speak, and I close my eyes at the sound of her voice, softly suggesting the words I could possibly be looking for. "I love you?"_

I thrust myself out of bed and feel a thick layer of sweat over my face. I close my eyes and realize it was only a dream, and check my pulse for a moment. Racing.

I stand up and walk over to my desk, where a glass of whiskey from the night before is sitting. I put one hand around it and finish it off, placing it gently on the table. I take a deep gulp of the night's air and shortly wish for it to choke me right there and then. Whiskey, it burns, slowly. Repentances.

I rustle my hair a moment, my eyes still closed. I begin to make my way back over to the bed, but I'm stopped by a feeling of presence. I open my eyes, remove my hand from my hair, and turn around.

"Hello, there."

I jump slightly, and grab onto the desk for support, knocking over a glass that was resting near the edge. "Great God!" I exclaim. "Who the hell are you?"

She walks over to me, my eyes beginning to adjust. "You mean to tell me you don't know who I am." She said, her voice sweet and cold at the same time.

"No, I do not." I say shortly, snapping, possibly, but it is early hours in the morning and I'm not tolerant of this kind of behavior—not this early.

"I'm Queen Cleopatra." She steps into the light from the windowsill and I vaguely see the description Octavius had given me. "Noble Antony." She adds, almost sarcastically.

Gathering my wit together, I try and focus. I walk over to the dresser quickly and grab some clothes to put on, for I am only partly dressed, and I speak to her as I do so. "I wasn't aware of you being here."

"No, nobody knows I am, yet." She runs her finger along the windowsill and sits down, looking aimlessly around the room. I look over, puzzled, and she kindly explains. "We set up a camp a few miles from here, for my coach doesn't like to travel in darkness, for some reason." She sounds unimpressed. "So, not wanting to wait, I walked."

"You.. walked?" I question, hardly believing her the first time.

"I walked." She confirms, sighing shortly and looking at me.

"But, you're the queen. Why didn't you just… command them to go, or something?"

She laughed shortly. "Clearly, Noble Antony, you have never experienced royalty." She stands up and straightens out her dress.

I feel my face burn in embarrassment. "To entertain your thought, I'll let you know that I was very close to Julius Caesar--" She closes her eyes in annoyance and waves her hand.

"Caesar. Enough about Caesar."

"I fought a _war_ for Caesar!" I protest, hotly.

"He fails to impress me," She murmurs, yawning. She dramatically stretches out her arms as she does so, as if she was trying to show me she was tired.

I pause, slightly shocked by the whole episode. She dosen't seem like any queen I've ever heard of. "Well, I suppose you should rest, then."

She looks over, as if the idea was impossible. "Rest? In your bed? Oh, Antony, I couldn't possibly…"

"I insist," I say, gesturing towards the bed. "I could get fresh sheets, if you wish."

"Oh, it would be insensible to wake the maid this early, but thank-you for the offer." She walks over to the bed, sits on the edge, and then turns to look at me. "Marcus Antonius, correct?"

"Were you looking for another Antony?" I ask, pushing a hand through my matted hair.

She shakes her head. "I just expected you… a little older, that's all."

"Older." I repeat, contemplating the thought. I _have_ been married thrice, and had two sons along with a daughter. I put a hand to my face, and then set it down, not letting her get to me. "Will you be bothered if I smoke?" I ask, and shut the window silently and sit down in my chair.

She shakes her head and walks over to the divider to undress herself. I light up and hold it in between my fingers as she silently places her dress over the top. I watch, curiously, and find myself trying to catch a glimpse of her hands.

There is something that needs to be understood at this point; Cleopatra was not beautiful in a physical sense. No, not at all. Her face was not soft, nor her eyelashes dark, or her lips full and red. Although she was not beautiful in the way men wanted women to be beautiful, there was something there, something powerful that seemed to move throughout your soul.

I hardly know her.

"Good-night, Cleopatra," I whisper, and I turn to look out the window as she pulls up the sheets and falls asleep.


End file.
